The Scarf
by TurnTheRadioOff
Summary: All Hermione wanted to do was go to the store. But Fleur couldn't make it that simple. Will they ever leave the house?
1. Chapter 1

Well, everyone, after a year-long hiatus… I am here, with fic nummer zwei. Once again, it's Fleur/Hermione, and once again, the characters do not belong to me. I'm just pretending Bill and Ron don't exist for now. This might be a one-shot, it might not be. We'll see.

It's a little… racy. It's rated M, just to be safe.

Review, please? Even if it's to tell me it's horrible. Flames will be used to heat my home in the cold winter months.­­­­­­­­­

* * *

The scarf was brown, and cotton. It had no pattern, it wasn't particularly stylish, but it kept her neck warm, and that was enough for Hermione to like it. 

It wasn't enough for Fleur.

"I don't care if it's not 'in style,' Fleur, it's _cold _outside. Have you looked at the thermometer?" It's negative two degrees outside!" Hermione had been arguing with Fleur for the past thirty minutes… over a scarf. Hermione insisted that Fleur should wear it while going to the store, and Fleur was, as usual, being stubborn.

"I will not be seen in zat… zat ZING!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I 'ave to keep up my appearances, 'ermione!"

"Your appearances? There's a war going on, people are dying, the Ministry has gone to crap and you're worried about how you look?!" Hermione was becoming furious, pacing back in forth behind the couch.

"Oui."

"Fleur. It's a muggle grocery store. Just put the damn thing on," Hermione took a deep breath, and counted to three. Her parents taught her this technique for dealing with insolent children, and it worked well when bickering with her French friend. "Please?" she added, smiling awkwardly.

Fleur let a sigh delicately slip out of her. "I… I will try it," she resigned. Hermione's smile grew wide.

"Fantastic," she ran to the blender, which Fleur had used in attempt to shred the scarf, and tugged at it until it released itself from the appliance. "Come here, it won't be _that_ bad."

"Only because you inzist!" the French witch called from the living room. Hermione smiled to herself.

"That really means a lot, Fleur. I'm glad we're starting to compr-"

No sooner had she turned around than Fleur tackled her to the floor. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Her perfume tickled her nose pleasantly, and Hermione inhaled deeply, intoxicated. She began to open her mouth in protest, but, for the first time in her life, words would not come to her.

"I knocked the breath out of you, _non_?" she whispered in a tone that left Hermione unable to speak. She chose to nod meekly. Her stomach was twisting in knots, somersaulting in ways it had never done before. She wanted to say something, _anything_, but her thoughts flew out of her grasp more quickly than she could piece a sentence together. Fleur laughed.

"I am not wearing zat, 'Ermione," she narrowed her eyes, not bothering to remove herself from the younger girl. She, instead, leaned closer. "Per'aps, you can try it on?" Fleur had lowered herself so her warm breath was in Hermione's ear, and her lithe fingers slowly pulled the scarf from Hermione's grasp.

"I don't-" the French woman stopped Hermione by placing a finger over her floundering lips. She removed it, and began weaving the scarf through her fingers, smiling mischievously. Hermione's eyes widened. Fleur lowered herself once again, gently lifting Hermione's head. The young woman shivered at the contact; she heard Fleur chuckle throatily. Her fingers brushed her neck, traced the outlines of her ears.

"Wha-" Fleur pulled the scarf towards her and met Hermione's lips with hers.

* * *

I do love a good cliff hanger. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alas, I've decided to update! Sorry to keep everyone waiting for sooooo long… I was a bit worried about people stumbling across my carefully hidden files on the computer, but now I have my very own laptop. Expect more from me now, errbodah.

Same old, same old. I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of his friends, nor do I intend to publish a lexicon detailing every intricacy of the plot...

Enjoy, and review.

Did I tell you all that you're wonderful for waiting? 'Cause you are.

WARNING: little plot ensues here.

* * *

Before Hermione could even lean into whatever it was that was going on, Fleur had disentangled herself, stood up, and skillfully tossed the scarf into the trash.

"And zat is the last I want to 'ear about it," she smirked. The younger witch stared from the trash, back to her roommate, back to the trash again. She had spent hours knitting that scarf. It was supposed to go to a needy house elf. And there it sat, atop coffee grinds and wrappers from imported crepe mix that Miss High Maintenance insisted on having. Hermione moaned audibly, exasperated.

"But not the last time I will be 'earing zat," Before she had finished the sentence, the brunette witch was halfway out the door, pulling on a pair of mittens and forcing herself to _not_ think about whatever it was back there, whatever the French con had been planning, whatever it was she had been doing with her tongue…

_No. I am not thinking about this. Think about… Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration! The first exception to this law is… what the hell?_

"Fleur. Sunglasses. Really?" Hermione tried to pay no attention to her, but it was futile.

"To protect me from snow blindness, of course," she replied, not missing a beat.

"It's…. almost eight o'clock. The fact that it has not snowed in three weeks is also not helping your cause." Hermione rolled her eyes as they turned the corner towards the store. The neon lights winked, as if they knew something she didn't.

"Ohhhh you Brits and your wit. You are all just soooo funny." Fleur tossed her hair, and, once again, the younger witch could barely stand. She couldn't find words, letters tumbled around in her mouth and danced around her tongue; she searched for a witty retort, something that would stick it to Fleur, and stick it to her good…

"Well, you French and your damn… attractiveness-" the blonde looked at her, eyebrow raised. "I just mean, you know… oh God. I'm rambling like Ron." She cringed, and looked down at her feet, walking determinedly faster. She tried to pay no attention to the woman laughing behind her.

"You are walking like an ape." Fleur took long strides to catch up with Hermione, keeping her arms by her side to make her point. "It's not very…attractive." She looked at the younger girl, as if daring her.

"Did you bring the grocery list?" Hermione snapped, taken aback by her own tone. The taller of the two nodded, satisfied, at the moment, with the aggravation she'd caused. As they came to the automatic doors, she could've sworn Fleur winked, but there was no way to tell, with those ridiculously large sunglasses.

_How did those even become popular in the first place? They make people look like insects. Tall, lean, gorgeous insects, with... ugh, where is she with that grocery list? _The cart rattled down the aisle, the fluorescent lights humming as Hermione scanned the yogurt selection. She had finally narrowed it down to three different variations of passionfruit when she heard a massive racket coming from the cart. Fleur was unloading an armful of ice cream toppings.

"Why, praytell, do we need six cans of _whipped cream?" _she hissed. Her jaw dropped as she saw what was meant to be a children's police costume set, complete with handcuffs. Fleur chuckled to herself merrily, sliding her sunglasses down her nose.

"What was that look for? Are you having some kind of party? You're having a party and you didn't invite me? I'm your roommate, for God's sake, I should—" Hermione gulped as the older witch's eyes flashed dangerously. She moved in closer, and Hermione could feel herself, leaning, leaning towards the woman who caused her nothing but frustration and aggravation and want. A lot of want.

"_Oui, _there is a party. You are the only one invited," she whispered throatily, toying the collar on the other girl's coat. Her face moved in closer, her lips were next to Hermione's ear.

An older muggle man cleared his throat. Hermione jumped and pulled away at the sound, caught completely off-guard, and embarrassed. "If you two'll excuse me for just a moment… I need to get to the milk." He was, it seemed, trying very hard to hide something.

"Of course, _monsieur. _'Ermione, let the nice man through. 'e needs to keep 'is _bones _nice and 'ealthy," she smirked as he shuffled off awkwardly, embarrassed. Hermione noticed he was waddling, like a duck, and snorted to herself. She looked back to her blonde companion.

"Now, where is this party, Fleur?" The nightlife around town was one of the few things Hermione hadn't researched before they'd moved in.

"In my pants."

* * *

I'm not really sure if this started off as a crack fic, but it's certainly heading that way. I really enjoy making Fleur ridiculously off-the-wall sarcastic, even if it does seem a bit OOC.

I really should write something with substance one of these days.

Hmmm. To continue, or not to continue… maybe you should all drop a line and let me know?


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